


Everything You Ever Wanted (And More)

by sunnymatsu



Category: AI: The Somnium Files (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Death, Character Study, Gen, Murder, Violence, just major tw in general please stay safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21854485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunnymatsu/pseuds/sunnymatsu
Summary: A.K.A. me rambling about Saito's childhood in an overly introspective and complicated way because I feel like it. MAJOR violence/animal death/abuse tw, please stay safe while reading.(MAJOR AI:TSF SPOILERS!! DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU HAVE FINISHED THE GAME COMPLETELY)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 43





	Everything You Ever Wanted (And More)

Taking lives isn't something you're born into, nor is it something you're born understanding. But there's something _in_ the hushed gasps when people hear of death.

“My mother is dead.” It takes a long time for Saito to understand why those simple words prompt such strange sadness in others. No matter how many times he says them, he never seems to feel it. He doesn't quite understand sadness yet.

He wonders why death makes people cry. Was it the permanence of it? The loss? He had lost his mother, yes, but then why did he not mourn? He had never met her. To truly lose something, you must first value it. Why, then, did others who had never met her seem so hurt when he told them?

What made them offer a consolation he didn’t need? Why doesn’t he want to cry?

Old men die when they get too old.  
A mouse dies when caught by a cat.  
A fish dies when removed from the stream.  
A mother dies giving birth to a child.  
An ant dies when you crush it under your heel.

He spends recess at school staring at an anthill, watching the tiny creatures scuttle across the dirt. He steps on them and watches as his motion creates a wave of insects all moving away from him, like the ripples in a pond disturbed. He picks them up, sees them wiggle between his fingers, and crushes them. Stares blankly at the bits still stuck to his hand. They give off a stinging scent that reminds him of the markers he uses in class. He likes it.

He often wonders what death would feel like. He knows pain, from scraped knees and papercuts. He knows bleeding. He tries to imagine that, but more intense. Something worthy of causing an end that cannot be unended. He still does not want to cry.

\--

In the years to come, he gets better at pretending. When he gets along, smiles and laughs like the other kids, it's quieter at home. He begins to understand the aching in his heart when his father yells for hours on end. He begins to understand that he isn't normal, and he begins to try to fix that.

So when his father tells him to play outside, he does. He watches the koi in the pond in his backyard. He reaches into the cool water, grasping at any that come too close. Trying to get faster and faster. He doesn't know how long it takes until he manages it, but eventually he does-- the cold, slippery scales finally succumb to his grasp, and he takes that opportunity. He pulls the fish from the pond and tosses it to the ground.

He crouches by it, watching more intently than he's ever watched anything before. The fish writhes and gurgles. He watches, closely, and the seconds feel like hours. Time gets slower and slower with the fish's convulsions. Yet, all too soon, it stops. He pokes the fish, kicks it, but it does not move. It will never move again. The fish is dead.

It doesn’t make him feel happy, not yet. But it makes him _feel_. And for now, that’s enough. 

\--

The more he thinks about it, the more it intrigues him. The house has plenty of novels, and he spends most of his time reading them. He learns new words, hidden away in books not meant for him. Meant for those who are older. His father tries to stop him when he's caught reading these books-- but he doesn't stop, of course. Those books are all he has.

And so he learns. He learns of dead pets, of family members loved and lost. He learns of ghosts and hauntings. He learns that every living thing will die one day, no matter what they do. He learns of murder. He learns of stabbing, strangling, shooting... He learns of excitement. Adrenaline. Joy. 

His father seems to be giving up on him. The yelling turns to negotiation. Pleading with him to be a normal child, to smile and laugh and play with friends. To have sleepovers and playdates like a _normal child_. He decides to take up the offer. He knows one of his classmates has a pet cat.

And so he has his first sleepover. He knows how to act by now, and though the child's parents seem wary he smiles and he laughs until they do too. He pets the cat and the static in its fur makes his skin sting. Anticipation fills his entire soul with pain, with it's accursed "not yet". 

Then finally, finally night comes. He lies still until he is sure the other child is asleep, their breathing slow and heavy. He slips out from under a blanket, and inches to the door. He thinks he might break. From the hallway to the stairs, down to the kitchen, he's hyper-aware of every sound he makes. He can't let anything stop this. He _has_ to do this. Something is possessing him, filling him with a vigor he’s never felt before.

He doesn't even think as he climbs up the kitchen shelves, careful not to let them creak beneath him. He stretches out a hand and finally grasps a knife, and can barely stop himself from tearing it off the wall in excitement. He hops back down from the counter, no longer caring about sound-- he rushes to the cat's nearby bed and in the darkness he can barely see it's hackles raise as it yowls, leaps up and away from him, but he grabs it's tail and pulls it back and he sees it claw furiously at his hand but he can't feel it and he hears footsteps at the stairs so he holds the cat still with all his strength and brings the knife down and _Oh._

He finally _wants_ to smile.

\--

He’s hooked, after that. Nothing can stop him now, and his father resigns himself to paying off family after family, pleading to let his son’s evil deeds go. Good. Leave the apologies to him. All Saito cares about now is this. Dogs tied up in yards, cats let out at night, anything he can get his hands on is dead. Quickly, slowly, subtly or dramatically. He experiments. They leave their mark on him too, claws raking across his skin in the frantic instinct to survive. He relishes in it.

His father barely speaks to him. Sometimes they go days without seeing each other. Sometimes he goes days without being fed. He’s fine with that. He only needs one thing to stay alive. 

The rage only hits him when he sees his father with that woman. The two of them smile, together. He remembers his father’s scolding. He remembers how he was punished for not being happy. He realizes that now, now that he _is_ happy, he’s been pushed aside entirely. Replaced. Was his smile really so worthless? 

\--

Hiding behind a corner. Listening, closely, to words spoken in hushed tones. Trying to discern their meaning through the beating of his own heart. A shout. The sweating of his palms. The way he's gripping the handle of the knife so tightly he thinks it might break. A strand of hair, sticking to his face. A sob. The deepest breaths he thinks he's ever taken.

Footsteps.

Before he can even see her, he's behind her, and in one brilliant motion he raises the knife and before she can turn he strikes and before she can feel it--

Euphoria. The manic joy he feels as the knife sinks into her back is entirely without compare. _Nothing,_ ever, in his life, has felt this painfully, _maddeningly_ incredible.

She crumples to the ground with a grotesque shriek as his vision tunnels. Feverishly, he tears the knife from her flesh--she screams-- and plunges it in again with an overpowering shudder. He can't stop his face from contorting into a grin, and he doesn't try to. He's long past inhibition. 

Again. Again. Again, again, again. His hands burn, both with adrenaline and the heat of blood. All he hears are her gurgling, wretched cries--now slowing--and still the deafening beating of his heart. He beams as he continues to stab, methodically mutilating her with unbridled fervor. 

He feels he could die, in that moment, and be happy.

But all good things must come to an end. Suddenly there's a hand clenching his shoulder and he's yanked backward. Before the motion is done a strong force knocks him to the side. He hits the concrete hard. He can't see. He's kicked in the stomach. The nausea stings, choking the air from his lungs. He can hear shouting. His eyes widen, barely focused, and he thinks that maybe the yelling has been happening for a while. He doesn't _care_. All he needs is the heat filling his body, the stiff violence in his limbs... the raucous, deafening beating of his heart.

He's kicked again.

He's content, maybe for the first time in his life.


End file.
